Not Quite Defenseless
by TheToxicInterest
Summary: Mike never thought that life without his personalities would be so horrific... Now that it seems Mal is returning, Mike's views of the world are going to take another swerve. [Takes place after All-Stars. One-Shot.]


**This was originally going to be a part of a one-shot collection, but I decided to just make it its own thing.**

**The following takes place after **_**All-Stars**_**. It started off as my take on Mike without his personalities, but it kind of got out of hand...**

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><p><em>It's too quiet.<em> I can hear children heading back to their homes, upset that the setting sun has ended their day. Chirping birds sound like jack hammers outside my window. My heart is pumping at a normal pace, and yet I can _feel_ it thudding in my ears. My stomach's light growls might as well be a lion roaring in my face. This silence is unnatural.

I shouldn't be able to hear my own organs working inside me.

"Is anyone there?" There's no response, _never_ a response since I hit that button and ruined my life.

Footsteps are outside my door; I silently pray that it's not my mother. I've been locked in my room all day with no food, no contact, no alters, and no reason why. Thankfully, not knowing what I did wrong is something I'm used to.

The footsteps fade. I'm staring at the ceiling again.

"Hello?" I ask aloud, but no one responds. "V-Vito? Manitoba?"

They can't be gone, they just can't be. My alters _can't be gone._

I'm not used to being alone for this long. Occasionally I'd get a little time to myself, and it would be wonderful, but never this long...

I shudder, feeling my blood run cold as it pumps LOUDLY through my body.

_My_ body. It's weird that I can call it that without an angry chorus of voices to remind me I share it. Multiples are supposed to call it _the_ body or _this_ body, but I was always against that, insistent that this is my flesh and blood and nobody else's. Mal used to accuse me of seeing them as symptoms of a disease rather than people—

Mal... Vito... Chester...

They aggravated me the most. I hated dealing with Chester's constant complaining. I detested the way Vito hit on every girl in school I hated. And, of course, I feared Mal's very existence. What I would give to have them back now— maybe even Mal for God's sake!— but I flushed all that down the fucking toilet.

I wince at my own language. I didn't used to swear, but I guess it's a residual effect of Vito's personality. I wonder what Svetlana would have to say about that if she were here...

Again, my stomach complains of its emptiness. Being locked up without food isn't anything new, apparently, but Svetlana or Mal were always the ones to handle it. They both had a natural tendency to refuse to eat anyway, but that wasn't left when that button "fused" us together.

_That button._ That fucking reset button, that stupid son of a—

I grimace, once again not recognizing my own thought process. Burying my face in my hands, I try to ignore the way the shadows are dancing all around me. I'm alone. I'm alone and it's terrifying.

"Why can't you guys hear me anymore?" I hug my knees, waiting for someone to break the silence that's breaking my mind.

My blood starts running hot. Why did they tell me to press that button? Why did they make me do it?! I'm sitting here miserable and starving and alone because of them! How could they do that to me?

_It was the right thing._ I smile for a moment, realizing too late that it's my own thoughts I've heard, not someone else's. Whatever fire was inside me stops right there. Flopping back onto my bed, I bury my hands in my hair, unsure of what I should do from now on. It's like losing an arm, it's like losing a lung. But the world will go on just the same, as if five people haven't essentially died for me.

_Died for nothing._ No, that's not true. It's good that we saved the world from Mal. But…

Soon my mother will hurt me in some way, and _I'll_ have to heal myself.

When I'm angry, _I_ will have to calm myself down.

When I cry, only _I_ can wipe the tears away.

Zoey or Cameron might try to help, but they can't know what this is like. She's spent her life alone in her room, and he's spent his alone in a bubble. They don't know how it feels to be robbed of all defenses, forsaking all five senses, scared shitless by something as simple as silence.

Is this some demented nightmare? Is Mal really in control, forcing me through a fantasy I can't control, showing me that my greatest dream would actually be a living nightmare?

_Because he's succeeded._

"If you can hear me, guys, I want my personalities back." But that sounds flat, so I correct, "I want my friends back."

Nothing. How can silence be so loud? How can something that seemed so beautiful turn out so rotten?

I start to wonder if I'm really hearing footsteps, or if I'm hallucinating again. I squeeze my legs even closer, biting my lower lip and waiting—

Waiting...

My mother will be here soon like a black cloud. A tall, shadowy figure with piercing green eyes. When she taunts me, Chester will not take my anger away. When she frightens me, Manitoba will not show his bravery. When she throws me on the ground, Vito will not step forward to take the pain. No one will help.

"This is what integration looks like for me." My voice sounds almost unrecognizable. "This is what I've waited sixteen years for."

_Are you happy now?_

Blinking, wiping at tears, I feel my heart freeze. It starts up again at a maddening pace. I hate myself for the hope in my voice when I whisper the name... "Mal?"

_Are you happy now?_, he repeats. _You finally have everything you've ever wanted._

"Mal..." My right hand reaches up carefully, fingertips connecting with my temple. "Are you all okay?"

The doorknob starts turning.

"I'm not happy," I whisper through tears. "Help me, please. T-Tell the others I miss them."

It takes a while to get a response. When I do, it's dripping with condescension, an announcement of my regrets: _There are no others, Mike. You got rid of them._

It feels like my stomach jumps up into my throat. _I_ got rid of them. Me. No one else.

The door comes open slowly.

"They're gone," I mutter, my hands falling meekly at my sides. "They're gone and it's all my fault."

My mother's eyes narrow when she looks at me. It's like she's seeing into my soul, reading each thought, turning over every emotion, analyzing the broken pieces. The more she looks into me―the problem child, the family embarrassment―the more I disgust her. Her make-up is perfectly applied, always the opposite of my tear-streaked face.

Her voice is remarkably level, practiced, but completely insincere: "I don't want to punish you, Mike."

I never realized how much my mother lies until just now.

_I've been telling you this for years,_ whispers Mal. _Our life is Hell. We told you integration would make it worse._

"I never listened."

"That's right. You don't listen," she says, not realizing I wasn't speaking to her. She gives me the same disappointed sigh I've been hearing for years. For once, I don't buy it; I finally see the truth. The tiny, almost sadistic smirk on her face gives her true emotions away. I've always thought my mother was just fed up with my mental issues, that I brought her anger and abuse on myself (or rather, my alters' behavior brought it on us). But I'm now recognizing a coldness in her eyes that isn't human. I'm seeing my world in a new way, a _worse_ way...

I'm starting to get why Mal became such a monster.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen." He knows that I'm still speaking to him, but my mom can't tell.

"Sorry isn't good enough, sweetie." She pats me on the head, frowning in a disciplinary way even though her eyes show excitement. Whatever she's about to do, she will enjoy it. I just then notice the flash of silver in her hand.

Before I have a chance to react with terror, everything goes blurry. My body begins to feel heavy, my spirit light. I'm floating towards the ceiling in a way I haven't felt in so long, my lungs filling up with air as if I've just been released from underwater...

When my eyes open next, I'm underneath my covers. My left arm, from shoulder to elbow, is numb and covered by some kind of soiled bandage.

_You're welcome_.

"Mal?" I gasp. This makes no sense. "What happened to the knife? Why don't I feel anything? Did you..."

_Don't read too much into it,_ he growls. _I still can't stand you._

That gives me pause. I'm struggling to stay awake; I don't know if it's an effect of dissociation or if I've been drugged.

If this were literally any other person, I would thank them. Not my "malevolent" alter. Logic tells me he has an ulterior motive. He did _not_ just take a metaphorical bullet for me. He couldn't have. Then again, logic would also say that my mom has a _reason_ to attack me with a knife.

"I-I don't know what to say."

_Like I said, don't think about it._ He sounds emotionless. I wish I could see his face, but when I try to focus, there's only the darkness._ Just go back to sleep, Mike._

I want answers. I need to know why no one's here but my evil side, and why he'd take a beating for me at all. I need to know why I'm only now seeing my mother for the beast she is within. I need to know the truth, but there's not too much I can do in this state. Ever since I pressed that stupid button, nothing makes sense anymore.

_Did our life _ever_ make sense?_ I hate it when Mal has a point.

I shut my eyes with a sigh, almost instantly falling back asleep. I don't dream, but there's something oddly better waiting for me: darkness. No thought, no trouble, and no worry. There's just darkness, cold yet strangely comfortable, enveloping me in a haven from the awful world outside.

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><p><strong>Oh, Mal, you complex little thing you...<strong>

**I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)**


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